


The Hallways, They Echoed and Groaned

by mythomagicallydelicious



Series: Who is In Control? [10]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Canon suicidal ideation, F/F, Gen, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, canon temp character death mentioned, fjord and yasha talk tragic pasts, fjord's ptsd, hint of hint of gay fjord bc why not, it can be confusing, past yasha/zuala, references episode 98 events, self-blaming thoughts, some hints at yearning from yasha if ya feel it, the mighty nein are family, unstoppable family, yasha's ptsd
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-14
Updated: 2020-09-14
Packaged: 2021-03-07 07:29:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26469469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mythomagicallydelicious/pseuds/mythomagicallydelicious
Summary: It's been a long journey, everything the Mighty Nein has been through together. Some recent events cause certain memories to haunt and linger, and Fjord approaches Yasha about her perception of them, one night.
Relationships: Fjord & The Mighty Nein, Fjord & Yasha (Critical Role), Obann & Yasha (Critical Role), The Mighty Nein & Yasha, Yasha/Zuala (Critical Role)
Series: Who is In Control? [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1735969
Comments: 2
Kudos: 31





	The Hallways, They Echoed and Groaned

**Author's Note:**

> This was written before episode 109, so unfortunately there is almost none of the awesome bro hype-each-other-up-continuously moments that I love in their interactions, highlighted super well last episode haha. 
> 
> It doesn't get graphic in descriptions about their pasts in this, but it does deal with them discussing different aspects of their traumas and their complicated feelings surrounding the past.
> 
> fic titled taken from "control" by Halsey (all titles are song lyrics from either "control" or "tRUST by half-alive")

One night, camping, keeping watch. Fjord volunteers. Yasha does too. They sit outside the bubble, keeping an eye out, sitting a couple feet apart.

The night is pleasant, the cold wind of Wildemount’s winter finally falling away. The moon is a sliver, barely lighting the night sky. They spend most of it in silence, surveying the landscape, until Fjord breaks it.

“Yasha,” he says, hesitating. Yasha looks over to him.

“Yes, Fjord?” she answers in a low voice, acknowledging the silence and hoping he knows she’s willing to wait for whatever he’d started saying. Fjord fidgets a bit more in place before taking a deliberate breath. Yasha watches his shoulders sink as he exhales.

“I don’t mean to pry, and if it is too uncomfortable, by all means, tell me to fuck off. But. Ah-I was wondering how you feel about Obann, now. After everything.”

Fjord seems to hold his breath, cheeks ballooning as he stills completely, eyes digging into the grass beside her.

Yasha grips the grass and tears clumps of it out, the name alone making her skin crawl.

“I hate him,” she whispers.

“You-you once said ‘it can be confusing,’” Fjord says gently. “You said he would talk to you, or at you. He called you all his ‘Unstoppable Family’, correct?”

Yasha bows her head. Her cheeks flush as she suppresses a flash of rage, even as sadness fills her, making her arms feel too heavy to lift.

“Why are you asking if you know what I’ve already said?” Yasha’s voice is tight, but her body feels numb. She hears Fjord swallow, the sound loud like the clanging of swords in an otherwise quiet night.

“I’m sorry,” he starts. “I’ve had a lot on my mind, lately. These last few weeks—the other’s families, our time at sea. Memories forgotten, returning. Everything after….”

Fjord rubs his hands together, voice fragile in a way she hasn’t quite heard, before. She’s heard Fjord angry, frightened, teasing, affectionate, nervous…but she’s never heard _this_ in him. A fragility that makes him sound much younger.

Yasha waits, the prickling numbness still filling her.

“I-I’m sorry,” he repeats. She waits. “But it’s—confusing. Growing up, I lived in an orphanage. I was a scrawny, easy target; for multiple reasons. My tusks, my skin, my clumsiness, you name it.” Fjord takes a shuddering breath as uneasiness sparks in Yasha’s stomach.

“The adults that ran the orphanage, the _caretakers_ ,” he says, the last word so incredibly bitter compared to the quiet, hesitant way he’s been speaking, it stands out in bold as he continues, his voice unsteady once more, “they didn’t give much of a damn about us. S’long as we did the work they told us to and didn’t kill each other, they hardly ever intervened among the kids. Except for- for the nurse. She’d separate fights. Patch us back up. Bring us up to assist her in chores as a protection from the older boys during work time, sometimes. She took care of the scrawny, targeted kids better and more than any of the others. She took care of me.”

Fjord sounded odd again, like he was trying to convince himself. Yasha glanced to the side, lifting her eyes to meet his.

“Her help wasn’t out of kindness, was it?” she asks, already knowing the answer as her stomach curls into knots.

Fjord exhales abruptly, in what might have been a laugh, if it were day time.

“No. No it wasn’t,” he says, meeting her eyes. For a moment they’re locked in understanding, no judgement. A deep pain usually kept locked down, hidden.

Yasha turns to sit facing Fjord now, knees drawn up and her chin resting atop them, one arm loosely wrapped around her legs, the other still gripping and releasing the grass beside her.

“He would always be talking. About his plans, about the glory waiting. About how happy he was for me and him to be reunited, for the others to be joining our family…. Sometimes he’d yell, take his anger out on us. Then apologize, saying that’s what families did; they fought. But they always make up.” Yasha feels how brittle her voice is.

Fjord nods, his yellow eyes flashing. “I wasn’t dumb, but it took me awhile to pick up on patterns. At first it didn’t seem like anything was wrong. I was so relieved to be away from the others, to be given a special assignment, I never thought twice about it. I trusted the nurse more than any other adults at the orphanage. She-she—I was so young. I didn’t know how she acted was—I didn’t know until she started asking me to do… more.”

Another deep breath, more shoulders shaking, eyes dropping away from hers and fists curled into fists at his sides.

“But her punishments were as manipulative as her rewards,” Fjord continued after a moment. “It was… confusing.”

Yasha’s mouth was dry as she felt a question draw to the front of her mind, unable to stop herself from asking. “How old were you?”

“I was old enough to know better. Old enough to understand. I should have stopped it—I shouldn’t have been—I should have, ugh,” Fjord makes a frustrated noise and one of his fists tightens further at his side.

“Maybe,” Yasha agrees, taking Fjord off-guard. “But you said she acted in a way that protected you—she made you feel cornered, messed with your head. She was in charge, and she used her position against you. So, maybe you fight back. Maybe she hurts you anyway. Maybe she makes something worse happen for you. It’s impossible to know. With so many people stacking odds against you, it’s impossible to imagine how our choices might have led us elsewhere. It’s not fair to torture yourself with what-ifs.”

Fjord avoids her eyes, but his fist relaxes and he traces circles into the dirt in front of him instead. “Perhaps.”

Yasha shakes her head, leaning in. “Perhaps nothing. I’ve been torturing myself for years, Fjord. ‘What if I hadn’t ran when Zuala was captured?’ ‘What if I hadn’t let myself be drawn to Obann?’ ‘What if I had never stumbled across the Stormlord’s altar?’ ‘What if I let myself lose a fight—what if I don’t get revived? What if that’s better for everyone?’” Yasha takes a deep breath, feeling the old ache of so many questions unanswerable filling her heart again.

Fjord’s eyebrows draw together and he looks up to her, at last. Yasha holds a hand up, cutting Fjord off before he can say anything.

“No, no, I know. But—you know what I mean? Whatever what-ifs you’re considering… it’s like the enemy is in your ear, asking them, making you doubt yourself. The voice I hear now is… usually Obann’s, when I start letting doubts creep in. There may be more than one, some louder than others, or maybe it’s just you. But—I don’t know, try and think about who brings you comfort, someone you love. And imagaine them punching the bad what-ifs in the mouth, and out of your head.”

Fjord snorts out an actual laugh and Yasha smiles a little with him.

“That is a pretty tempting image,” Fjord says. “Who do you imagine?”

Yasha fiddles with her symbol of the Stormlord, but she keeps her small smile.

“It changes. Sometimes… I imagine Beau, or Jester. Mollymauk, at other times. You all are the best and only friends I’ve ever known since my wife. Molly… and all of you.”

Fjord nods. “I understand. I feel the same. I sailed with one man for a dozen years, and with familiar faces of crew for many years as well. But I haven’t felt so at easy or-or safe, really, anywhere but with the Mighty Nein.”

“So imagine one of us if you want, Fjord. I’d love to punch your past in the face, if it bothers you. I know the others would to the same.”

“It’s hard to imagine Caduceus punching anyone in the face, to be perfectly honest. Everyone else, sure,” Fjord replies, shooting back with some humor.

Yasha shakes her head slightly. “Well, you didn’t see him go into dark mode when you got stabbed by the fish-people things on our way to the peace negotiations. I can easily imagine him dropping his staff and drop-kicking a bitch on your behalf,” Yasha deadpans. Fjord nearly shouts with the laughter that brusts from him. Yasha breaks her straight expression and laughs with him.

“Okay, okay, thank you for that image. I shall treasure that mental picture,” Fjord says as his laughter trails off. The tightness in their chests seems to have faded to the background.

“No problem.”

It’s quiet again, but with none of the earlier tension. It’s a comfortable silence—one friends can share. It’s nice. For a moment Yasha itches to pull out her harp, but she resists the urge and lets the moment linger.

“I can see Beau, too. And the others—I can easily imagine our friends casting _silence_ on my what-ifs. Or throwing an ax through them.

Yasha’s smile widens a tiny bit more, nodding with him.

Time passes in quiet understanding and soon they wake up the next watch, settling back into the dome with their friends. Yasha sees Fjord set up camp between Caduceus and Caleb. Jester and Veth are heading out to set up their watch. Yasha lays near the edge of the dome, near Beau and next to Caleb’s boots.

Beau lets out a soft snore and flips over, curling over one of Yasha’s arms. She mumbles a “ _pop-pop_ ” and her grip tightens. Yasha smiles, closing her eyes and trusting that her back is watched and that their shelter will stay standing. And sleeps, and dreams of the comforting sounds of a rainstorm.

**Author's Note:**

> I had made two endings to this fic, and it was super hard to pick which one would win, because each had interactions that I loved between them in it, and it got too clumpy trying to tie them in together. But if you're interested I an put the blurb as a "chapter two" alternate ending, haha. The alternate line would start at "how old are you" and go from there.
> 
> thanks for reading! hope you enjoyed :D


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